Seducing Draco Malfoy
by faithwood
Summary: The first time Harry Potter appeared on his doorstep, Draco was only slightly miffed. The second time, Draco was quite miffed and quite surprised. The third time, Draco was downright shocked. HPDM. SLASH. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.  
**Title: **Seducing Draco Malfoy  
**Pairing: **Harry/Draco

**Author:** Faith Wood  
**Rating: **Hard R.  
**Word Count: **2000  
**Genre: **Humour  
**Status: **Complete  
**Summary: **The first time Harry Potter appeared on his doorstep, Draco was only slightly miffed. The second time Harry Potter appeared on his doorstep, Draco was quite miffed and quite surprised. The third time Harry Potter appeared on his doorstep, Draco was downright shocked.  
**Warnings: **Smitten!Harry, SmittenPainfullyOblivious!Draco, Harry-pursuing-Draco story, Top!Harry

**Note: **My deepest apologies for delayed and nonsensical review responses. I haven't been receiving e-notifications form FFN and I seriously thought no one here is reading my stories, so I haven't even checked. Sorry. LOL! I thought everyone here hates me. :( And then WHAM! My inbox gets flooded. Sorry. -- Faith

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Seducing Draco Malfoy

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The first time Harry Potter appeared on his doorstep, Draco was only slightly miffed. He had things to do; he had no time for Potter. Draco had bought himself some ice cream and pulled down the blinds, lit the fire in the fireplace, sat on his favourite sofa and bemoaned his solitude and his pitiful existence. It had all been carefully planned. Written down on his schedule and everything. Afterwards he meant to wank. Possibly try out that new dildo he had acquired. Maybe. If he felt like it.

But now, all of his plans were ruined because Harry Potter wanted to discuss paperwork. Bloody wank-blocking wanker. Potter should have at least brought some wine with him, and maybe some dinner. And Draco had told Potter as much. Not that Draco wanted to hang out with Potter. Please. But they were co-workers, fellow Aurors, and Draco had learned to tolerate the man. Potter could have come here and they could have tolerated each other the whole night. That wouldn't be a problem. But bringing work to his flat when Draco had other things to do was just cruel.

Potter looked apologetic, but it didn't seem like he had any plans to leave. So that was how they ended up on Draco's sofa, the one Draco should have been wanking on, and stared at reports for which Potter insisted Draco had to see. Or else.

Draco had looked and looked, and complained and whined, feeling painfully claustrophobic because Potter kept giving him papers and then leaned in to read them. As though the only way he could possibly read something was if Draco held it for him. Strange, lazy git.

Potter's messy hair was constantly under Draco's nose, looking fuzzy and annoying. And just for the record, Draco had never wanted to know that said hair smelled like pine trees. Or that it felt like silk.

Not that Draco knew how Potter's hair felt like, but it looked silky. Okay, so maybe Draco touched it once. Or twice. Accidentally. To move Potter's head away, of course. Which negated the it-was-accidental claim, obviously. But it wasn't like Draco had an ulterior motive. He just had that one obvious motive.

"Um, yes?" Potter asked.

Draco quickly pulled his hand away; hand that was inexplicably buried in the silky, pine tree-scented hair.

Draco cleared his throat. "There was a ... bug in your hair. Big one. I killed it."

Potter looked at Draco's hand. "And then you ate it?"

Draco blinked. "No, I threw it away." He waved his hand vaguely around. "Far away.'

Potter bit his lip and nodded. "Well, thank you. I guess I owe you one." Potter's eyes twinkled.

He must have been drunk.

"You do," Draco agreed quickly, and then he grabbed the stack of papers and shoved them into Potter's hands. "You can go and finish this for me. Alone. Elsewhere."

Potter's face fell, but he nodded and soon enough, he had left, looking very much like a kicked puppy.

But Draco hardly cared. He had never liked puppies. Kicking them was in his job description as an ex-evildoer.

When he was left alone, Draco had his scheduled wank.

And he ate the ice cream.

And he used the dildo.

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o-O-o

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The second time Harry Potter appeared on his doorstep, Draco was quite miffed and quite surprised. Potter had a bottle of wine in one hand and a paper bag in the other. The paper bag smelled liked dinner. Draco raised his eyebrows, more out of hunger produced by the nice dinner-y smell than surprise, but Potter hurried to explain himself.

"I thought you'd like us to ... er ... tolerate each other. I'm a very good tolerator. And I'm eager to learn new ways of tolerating. If you know any. So, um, want to tolerate me?"

Draco stared, perplexed. "What on earth are you on about, Potter?" he snapped, grabbing the paper bag. Just in case Potter decided to leave.

Potter looked confused and crestfallen, so Draco sighed and allowed him to come inside. Babbling nonsense or not, the prat was in possession of food and wine.

The food turned out to be ... satisfying. In an orgasmic sort of way. Apparently Potter made the dinner himself. The wine wasn't half-bad either.

"You have your uses," Draco admitted, as they were sitting by the fireplace, drinking and staring at each other without talking. Which, surprisingly, wasn't as awkward as it sounded.

"I have several uses," Potter said in an odd sort of voice. Sounded like he had a cold or something.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. But tell me, what else can you do?"

Potter smiled widely — the conceited git. "All kinds of things. But I would have to get to know you a little better before I could demonstrate those."

"Oh come now. What is it? Can you fold your tongue? Tie a cherry stem into a knot with it? Or maybe lick your nose?"

Potter cocked his head. "Why do you think my skills have anything to do with my tongue?"

Draco stared, not knowing what to say for a long time. "The rest of you seems useless," he concluded finally.

"But my tongue seems useful?"

"Er ... that's the part of you I can't see. So I can't know."

"I have other parts you can't see."

Draco clenched his teeth. "Well, I have no use of _those_ skills, do I?"

"But my ability to tie a cherry stem into a knot is useful to you?"

"I collect knotted stems."

"Draco ..."

"Malfoy," Draco corrected quickly. What was Potter playing at? They weren't friends.

"Actually my name is Harry," Potter said cheekily.

"Actually your name is Potter. And also, it's time for you to leave."

Potter looked distressed. "But I thought we'd tolerate each other the whole night."

"Odd as that may be, I have other things to do," Draco assured.

Potter pouted but stood up, looking sad and drunk. Also tall and muscular, but that was beside the point.

Draco watched Potter leave, randomly assessing the tightness of Potter's jeans (they were tight) and then he almost choked on his wine when Potter turned around and said, "Just so you know — I _can_ tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue." And then he left.

Draco sank deeper into his sofa and felt a sudden craving for cherries. And dildos.

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o-O-o

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The third time Harry Potter appeared on his doorstep, Draco was downright shocked. He could not be faulted however, because Potter was practically naked. Well, not naked but wet, his clothes clinging to him like second skin, so Draco could imagine quite clearly how Potter would have looked like if naked. Which he didn't imagine, but he could have if he wanted to.

Potter had been running, apparently, from what Draco did not know as Potter merely said running. And also, as per Potter's claims, Potter had no water at home for some reason, and he really needed to be somewhere right now, and he couldn't go like this, all sweaty and smelly, so if Draco would be so kind, Potter would very much like to use his shower.

Draco hadn't been really listening to Potter's explanation. He was busy staring at drops of sweat sliding over Potter's biceps. Potter's arms were bare and he was showing too much skin in general; he seemed to have lost half of his clothes while running. Draco swallowed convulsively several times, and Potter must have interpreted that as nodding because he smiled and stepped inside, happily walking towards Draco's bathroom.

Draco had remained stuck on the spot for a long time. In fact, he was still there when Potter had reappeared, clad in nothing but a white towel. A towel whose ends he had to hold together in one hand so it wouldn't fall off.

"Could I borrow some of your clothes?" Potter asked, though it was naught but noise to Draco's ears. There was a lot of noise in his ears, and Draco thought he was feeling a bit dizzy. But how could he not, when Potter was standing in the middle of Draco's living-room, drops of water sprinkled all over his torso — a muscular, tanned torso — and over his flat abdomen, and over the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the towel, and over strong, long legs, and the part of his left thigh that wasn't covered with the towel. And why was the towel so short anyway? Draco did not own such short towels.

Potter kept talking, but Draco had long since stopped listening. Instead, he was admiring the silky feel of Potter's skin and the wonderful salty taste of Potter's chest. Had he stopped and considered, he would have asked himself how come he knew what Potter felt and tasted like. But Draco hadn't considered anything because he was much too busy _feeling_.

Draco's arms were wrapped around Potter's waist as he desperately searched for more skin. Thankfully, there was plenty of it. He yanked the towel away and grabbed the firm mounds of flesh the silly towel had previously kept hidden. His tongue searched out and licked every single drop of water that decorated Potter's body. It was Draco's water anyway. Potter had merely borrowed it; now Draco was taking it back. It wasn't his fault it was attached to Potter's nipples, and his stomach, and his cock.

When Potter fell on his back and lay sprawled on Draco's carpet — he fell, Draco hadn't pushed him — Draco had spelled his own clothes away and Conjured some lube, carefully smearing it over Potter's cock. The said cock was in the middle of Draco's flat and therefore his property and Draco could use it in any way he wished. Finders keepers and all that.

But Potter had not complained. In fact he had been very helpful. He had sat up and pushed two fingers up Draco's arse, nibbling Draco's neck and saying something silly like, "Took you long enough. I guess third time's a charm."

Draco frowned and said, "Yes. Fine. We'll do it three times. Hurry up."

Potter laughed, sounding amused and bewildered, but he had obliged, and soon Draco was pushing back and moaning, wondering why they hadn't done this before.

Draco had stopped thinking as Potter grabbed his hips and pulled him down, his body burning and struggling to accommodate the pleasantly wide girth.

"Nnngrh!" Draco assessed, now fully impaled; Potter's prick feeling big and hot, and _right_ within him.

And then Potter kissed him, demonstrating that yes, that tongue would certainly be able to tie stems into knots. Also, turn Draco's insides into mush. And that was a skill indeed.

"I guess I'll get to demonstrate all of my hidden skills to you, after all." Potter smiled, lying back down, his hands still gripping Draco's hips as he thrust upwards so harshly Draco was forced to jump, his arse slapping against Potter's thighs as he fell back down again.

Draco gasped, but pushed down with equal force, loving the way Potter cried out and bared his neck when Draco clenched his inner muscles as hard as he could. And Draco was very flexible. And strong.

As they formed a fast, hard rhythm, heavy breathing and wet slapping sounds of their bodies filling the room, Draco caught the intense green gaze staring up at him in awe. And seeing Potter like that, completely mesmerized by the image of Draco riding him with unbridled enthusiasm, Draco concluded that Potter had a bit of a crush on him.

But that was okay, because Draco suspected he was crushing on Potter.

The only problem was making Potter realize that this wasn't just fucking, but also _crushing_ and therefore an admirable cure for solitude and an existential crisis. Potter was a bit dense and Draco would have to struggle to make him see. Oh but, Draco thought as he clenched around Potter's cock again and Potter cried out in appreciation, coming deep inside Draco's arse, Draco had skills of his own and a fair amount of determination. He would make Potter see. This was worth the trouble.

Because Potter, Draco concluded as his orgasm rushed through him, making the world a brighter, better place, Potter was so much better than the dildo.

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Fin

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End file.
